Forbidden
by That Insignificant Girl
Summary: Poor, unfortunate Nico, about to fail his first quest. That is, until he finds a girl with a secret that could solve all of his problems. Or be the cause of his death. There's only one way for him to find out . . .
1. I Find My First Lead

"If that's all, Mr. di Angelo, I encourage you to take you seat."

Cheeks burning in humiliation, I began to trudge over to my desk at the back of the classroom. Oral reports, as I was sure everyone had figured out by now, were most definitely not my forte. Unfortunately, Mr. Saunders was not the kind of teacher who would give you a break just because you were ADHD and dyslexic. Hell, I doubted he'd give you a break if you'd been run over by a cement truck on the way to school.

Oh, I could imagine it now. "Mr. di Angelo, where exactly were you looking when the cement truck was hurtling towards you in plain sight? I somehow doubt you would miss seeing something that large. This is exactly why you must _pay attention_. Do I need to send a note home to you parents? I certainly hope not . . ."

My thoughts were interrupted by the filthy plastic floor, which I noticed was coming up to meet me awfully fast. I threw my hands out to catch myself, landing with an awkward "Umph!" that seemed to resonate throughout the room.

Ignoring the snickers and whispered taunts of "nerd" and "loser", I picked myself up off of the ground and walked, head down, back to my seat. Looking back, I saw that Dylan Thomas had been the cause of my fall. Or, to be more specific, his foot. He shifted in his chair to glower at me, green eyes glittering with hostility. He hissed the word "freak," then turned his attention back to the front of the room.

I gritted my teeth and contemplated chucking my pencil as hard as I could at the back of his head. But no, that would probably be a bad idea, considering that my teacher and a classroom full of Dylan's allies were sitting right there. A shame, too, because I had all but perfected my aim over the school year.

I sighed. Ah, the school year. So far, seven of the worst months of my life.

_You deserve it_, said a nagging voice in the back of my head. _If you had gotten your job done already, you would have been out of here a long time ago._

'My job', as Chiron had put it, was to enroll at J. R. Carter High School in Birchville, Rhode Island. Well, to pretend to enroll. Technically, I had no file or anything, but Chiron and his Mist were able to take care of that. As for the purpose of my enrollment, well—that was kind of the one issue I had failed to address since I was shipped here.

See, the Council of Cloven Elders had sensed a strong aura at the school, one that could only belong to a demigod. This was understandably confusing, seeing as how the gods had promised to claim all of their children and such. That being said, wild accusations were thrown around, disagreements started, fights were caused, and all of that good stuff. The gods argued that it was nothing, that they had claimed all of their children and were continuing to do so. The Council countered that the aura was too strong to be that of a mortal, ergo it must belong to a demigod.

In the end, it was decided that a scout would be sent to check things out, see if they could find the source of power, and report any and all unusual activity to Chiron.

Enter me, Nico di Angelo, sixteen year old son of Hades and social outcast.

Two months were left in the school year, two months before my time was up and I'd return home a failure. And there I was, sitting in class, thinking about throwing sharp projectiles at obnoxious blonde tyrants.

I gripped my pencil so tightly my knuckles began to turn white. My gaze swept around the room, observing each and every face. One of them could be the person I was looking for. Ond of them could be the cause of my mission. So you'd think they would be relatively easy to spot.

Time and confidence were running out, and they were running out _fast_. I would have to look extra hard, be twice as observant, five times as alert. But I would find them.

I just had to.

* * *

Lunch at J. R. Carter High was, like everything else in the damn place, boring and mediocre beyond belief. I grimaced as I slid my tray along the line, the sticky shapeless foods matching the gloomy gray interior and sullen overweight cafeteria ladies in hair nets. Looking up at the giant whiteboard plastered oh-so-delicately to the opposite wall, it took me a few seconds to decipher today's lunch special; beef stroganoff.

Deciding to play it safe, (because gods only know what goes into the cafeteria meat) I grabbed a bruised apple and a questionable looking slice of pizza, then veered off to the left in search of an empty seat. This alone was a challenge, because there was a ninety percent greater chance of being tripped while weaving through the maze of tables in the cafeteria than the desks in the classroom. Finally, I spotted an empty one in the far corner, away from all the others and closest to the bathrooms—at the fringe table.

Sliding into the seat on the end, I nodded a greeting to the occupants who had arrived before me. Of the six of them, two were drama majors, three were computer nerds, and one was a short guy with a serious acne problem. Not the most ideal company, but better than eating in the bathroom any day. None of them looked up from their conversations, but Acne Boy gave me a small smile before turning his attention back to his lunch.

I was about to do the same, but something a few tables away caught my attention.

There were two very pretty girls, one small with caramel colored skin and flowing dark hair, the other a goth with a pale complexion and a brooding posture. They seemed to be having an argument with Dylan and two of his football player friends. I strained my ears to listen.

" . . . already said no," the first girl was saying, her tone indicating that she was extremely upset. "Three times, actually!"

"People can change," Dylan said, his goons nodding in agreement. "Like, at the beginning of the year, I didn't realize how beautiful you were. Now I do."

The girl shook her head. "N-no. I won't go out with you, Dylan."

"Who says we have to go out?" He leaned in towards her. "We can keep it on the down-low. Real quiet. And _private_."

And then he smirked, that damn smirk that seemed to magnetically attract my fist to his face. And while it did seem to piss the goth one off more, it had a dangerously different effect on the first girl. In fact, she looked like she might be on the brink of tears. I saw her open her mouth to answer, but no sound came out.

"Come on," Dylan prodded. "I'll make it worth your while. I promise. All I'm asking for is one night."

She shook her head violently. "C-c-can't. I can't, D-Dylan."

"Look here, Jolie," he growled, grabbing her arm tightly and kneeling to look her in the eye, "If you'd just—"

And suddenly, he was pinned up against the wall, the goth girl holding him there with a stength I didn't think someone like her could possess. She was literally shaking with rage, and looking like she was having a hard time not strangling him. At this point, the whole student body had turned to see what the commotion was, and were staring wide-eyed at the two as the girl began to speak.

"Listen up, asshole," she hissed, her voice dangerously low, "You don't touch my friend. You don't come near her, or look at her, or even _think_ about her. So you and your mouth-breathing Neanderthal friends get the hell away from her. Are we clear?"

At first he didn't say anything. Then his gaze traveled south of her face, all the way down her trembling body and back up in an extremely obvious fashion. When his eyes landed on hers again, he was grinning.

"Oh, I know what this is," he gloated, "You're jealous! No problem, you're pretty hot. I'm sure we can we can work something ou—"

"Are we clear?" she snarled again, pushing him—if physically possible—even harder against the wall. He flinched, letting out a long string of profanities. For once, his eyes shone with real fear.

"Fine," he muttered, "We're clear, we're clear."

She released him and gave him a small push towards the exit. He stumbled, muttered something to his friends about "that crazy . . . " er, something I'd rather not say, and loped out of the cafeteria with his dignity in the recycling bin. The goth girl closed her eyes, like she was concentrating hard, and soon her tremors ceased.

Everyone was still staring, whether frozen in shock, fear, or awe, I didn't know. The shorter girl, Jolie, looked like she wanted to die. The goth looked like she wanted to kill.

"Miss Mercer!"

We all turned. The Principal, Mr. Cohan, was storming across the caf towards where the angry girl still stood. His face was a revolting mixture of red and purple, the kind of color that one can only achieve if they're about to give out a year's worth of detentions. A vein stood out in his forehead, pulsing wildly. The gross icing on the bald-headed cake of hideous.

"Lavinia!" he shouted, "In my office! Right now!"

"It's Nia . . . sir." She tacked the last part on to the end of her sentence before she could dig herself any deeper. Which would be kind of hard to do, because she had pretty muched reached dinosaur fossils at this point. I half expected steam to come out of Cohan's ears.

Instead, he just stood there, posture rigid and eyes dancing with a wild, middle-aged fire that only a principal can summon. "Lavinia Mercer," he seethed, ignoring her request, "You accompany me to my office _right now_ or you are on suspended for a month!"

If I were her, I would have been nervous as hell. I mean, suspension? What would my family think? I'd never really had to worry about that, because I didn't really have a family that would care. But this girl—Nia, Lavinia, whatever—she just blinked, then calmly followed Cohan, carrying herself with a quiet dignity that none would ever maintain after being yelled at in front of their whole school.

I didn't know what she would say. I didn't know what the principal would think. I didn't know what her punishment would be. But I didn't really care either, because what I did know was that I was onto something. Something big. Something important.

Something godly.

* * *

I'm not going to lie.

I decided to stalk her.

But, regardless of the fact that it's illegal, I was completely justified and had every right to do it. I mean, think about it; the world may potentially be ending (metaphorically speaking), and you can either risk getting sent to jail to prevent it all, or you can just let it happen. Which would you choose? Well, if you're not a complete jackass, you would choose the former. In which case, you would understand the kind of pressure I was under and why it was completely necessary.

And, also, I really had nothing better to do with my time.

So it was that after she left with Mr. Cohan, I quietly slipped through the doors and trailed behind. Easier said than done, because then I had to deal with the minor issue of being, you know, _visible_. Fortunately, being vastly unpopular and extremely average-looking has its benefits, so I was able to blend in with the rest of the student body fairly well. And, thankfully, Cohan's office wasn't very far from the caf, so I was much less likely to be noticed.

But not-so-thankfully, it was behind the front office, which—for those of you who don't know this—makes it a whole lot riskier for one to eavesdrop.

Yet eavesdrop I did.

I waited until I heard the principal's door slam shut before ducking through the doorway of the front office. The secretary, Ms. Pfeffer, was out on lunch break. I sent a silent prayer of thanks to Limus (god of hunger) and knelt down behind her desk, edging as close to Mr. Cohan's office as I dared. I strained my ears to listen. He was rumbling on about something in his monotonous voice, and I could only catch little snippets of what he was saying.

" . . . what you have done . . . cannot believe . . . zero-tolerance policy . . . unacceptable . . ."

I scooted just a tiny bit closer, the words becoming a bit clearer. I knew that part of me was visible from the other side of the desk, but not enough that anyone should notice. Hopefully. Now I could just barely make out the conversation.

" . . . completely inappropriate behavior," Cohan was saying. "It's stunts like this that will make others think very poorly of you."

"With all due respect, sir," Nia replied in a bored tone, "I honestly don't care what others think of me."

I could practically _hear_ him scowl. "Miss Mercer," he chastised her, "this is hardly the time to make witty remarks. You're lucky I'm your principal. Otherwise, you'd have gotten three months' suspension for talking back!"

Lucky? Please. "Lucky" my ass. Actually, that sounds kind of weird. I take it back. I'm not going to talk to you about my ass. Maybe my jeans, or whatever, but not my ass. That's just awkward. Like this paragraph. And now we're both internally cringing and hoping it will end soon. See what I mean? This is the problem with modern slang. Man, I miss the 1930's.

Bet you forgot that I'm over seventy, didn't you? Ha.

"I wasn't talking back," Nia countered, her response laced with barely-suppressed irritation, "I was just telling the truth. Isn't that our school motto? 'Honesty is the best policy', or something?"

Ah, yes. The school motto. Otherwise known as "The Phrase That Will Get You Beaten Up if You Ever Repeat it in Any Public Location Outside of School." However, if used properly, it can be an excellent tool in getting your teacher to overlook the fact that you forget to do your history essay yet again, and make her feel touched that she has such a genuinely sincere and honest student.

Shame that I didn't use it properly.

"Of course it is. But, Miss Mercer, there is a large difference between honesty and disrespect. And right now, your manner is that of the latter."

"I'm just stating the obvious! Is that such a bad thing?"

"It is if you are disrespecting one while doing so."

"Oh, so I get in trouble for being the only student who doesn't suck up to you? Who tells the truth, instead of spewing lies and fake flattery?"

"Miss Mer—"

"You're not even going to ask me _why_ I pushed Dylan against a wall? It doesn't occur to you that I'm not just some stupid, impulsive teenager? That maybe I had a valid reason?"

"Miss Mercer, please—"

"No!" A chair scraped across the floor. "He was harrassing my best friend! And instead of punishing him, you drag me in here for trying to help her! You teachers are so—"

"MISS MERCER!" he bellowed, voice screeching like nails on a chalkboard. No, scratch that, excessively-sharpened claws on a chalkboard. "Sit down. Now. Or I will call your parents."

That seemed to get her attention. There was a soft plunk as she fell back into the chair.

Honestly, I was stunned. I mean, I'd lost my temper with teachers before. All demigods had at some point. And, assuming that Nia was also a demigod, it was nothing new. But this? This abrupt onslaught of anger? I didn't even think Percy had ever gone that far before. And he had a_ really _bad temper.

"And for goodness' sake," he continued, "stop shaking."

"I can't help it, sir," she said, her tone flat and emotionless, like she was reading lines she'd recited one too many times. "I'm prone to muscle spasms."

He responded with a quick, "Ah, my apologies," then talked to her about what her punishment would be. Either she could volunteer to help out in the cafeteria for a month, or have detention every single day—including weekends, when it ran from morning until noon every Saturday and Sunday. The mere thought of either one was enough to make me want to die, but Nia just seemed relieved that she wouldn't have to deal with her parents.

"Detention seems . . . reasonable," she said. I didn't even need to see her expression to know that she was lying.

"Then detention it is," Cohan replied.

_Is our cafeteria really that bad?_ I wondered. Then I answered the question for myself. _Yes, yes it is._

I peered at the clock on the adjacent wall. Five minutes until class. And then end of Ms. Pfeffer's lunch break. I'd either have to leave now, or risk getting caught in a rather awkward and somewhat sketchy position. And though neither options were particularly appealing, I must say that, in comparison to the latter, the former sounded completely amazing. So I stood up and began to walk away . . . only to run smack into the aforementioned secretary herself.

Now, when caught manuevering out from behind a desk in a very public area, there aren't that many realistic explanations you can give. In fact, there are a total of two; the truth, and, "Sorry, I just dropped my pencil." And since the truth was somewhat disturbing, I went with the second. Of course, there was the small problem that I didn't actually _have_ a pencil, but that had seemed irrelevant at the time.

After skillfully dodging some interrogating questions and laying on the "fake flattery", as Nia had called it, I was back at my tiny locker, on my way to being late for Trigonometry. And for once, that was a good thing. Why, you might ask? It's simple; I needed to get a detention.

Now, I know you're thinking, "#$%&*!". And to be honest, I'm not so sure how to respond to that. But what I _can_ tell you is that my reason for doing such a thing was for the sake of life as we knew it.

And my ego.

But that's hardly important.

* * *

**Huge thanks to Riptide Anaklusmos, for being my wonderful beta! Hope you liked it! Please review!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series.**


	2. I Interrogate Nia Mercer

Getting a detention proved to be a lot harder than it looked.

Now, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that getting a detention is the easiest thing in the world. That all you have to do is pass notes in class, call the teacher a hag, or bring your iPod to the science lab. And then, bam, you've got one.

But, unfortunately for me, the teachers at my school decided to be extra nice that day. Which, under normal circumstances, would have been fantastic. But as I walked into trig seven minutes late, and Mrs. Landry just smiled at me and waved me to my seat, I couldn't have been more annoyed.

"What if I don't want to sit?" I challenged her. "What if I like standing up? What if being in a vertical position is an enjoyable experience for me?"

She sighed wearily. "Please, Mr. di Angelo. I don't have time for this."

"You don't? 'Cause I do. I have all the time in the world. I have _so much_ free time after school. Which I like. A lot. And if someone were to take away that time, wow, that would be a terrible punishment. It would certainly make me learn my lesson."

People in the class were looking at me funny.

"Nobody's going to, Nico," she said, "Just as long as you take your seat."

"But—but—"

"Now."

And biology was no better.

"I like sex!" I announced as I stepped into the classroom. There was no sound but the constant hum of the air conditioner and the scratching of pencils on paper.

"Like, a lot!" I added, when it soon became apparent that no one had heard me—or that they quite possibly couldn't care less. I glanced at Mr. Stanton. He didn't even bat an eyelash. Not a single. Freaking. Eyelash. Do you know how many eyelashes the average male adult has? Well, I don't. (And if you do, then you have _way _too much time on your hands.) But I'm fairly sure it's a lot. And to not bat even one, that's just . . . harsh.

Now, those who know me know that my presence must always (sometimes) be acknowledged. And if it's not, then I will (might) take immediate (slightly delayed) action. So it was that in that moment, I said pretty much the most brilliant and least ditzy-sounding thing ever.

"It's totally awesome!"

I know, I know. I amaze myself as well.

"Are you quite finished?" Mr. Henson drawled from his desk in the corner. "I do have a class to teach, you know."

Realizing that my tactic had failed, I mumbled an apology and slunk off to my seat, where I proceeded to sulk broodingly for the rest of class. It really shouldn't have been this hard.

But the third time, as they say, is supposedly the charm.

Enter my history teacher, Ms. Perkins. (And yes, I am well aware that her name sounds suspiciously close to the word "perky", but do not be fooled; there is nothing perky about this woman.) Divorced three times, with her most recent spouse getting full custody of the kids, living in a run-down apartment in the bad part of town, and splitting the rent with an insufferable college drop-out who has the annoying habit of throwing spontaneous keg parties.

When you think about it, it's really no wonder that this lady was basically Hell incarnate. (This is me acknowledging the irony of that statement.)

Which is why, as I stepped over the threshold of room B127 and Ms. Perkins glowered hatefully in my direction, I welcomed the sense of severe dread that washed over me. If any teacher was going to get me in trouble, she was the one.

"Everyone take out your homework!" she barked at us.

That was it. No, "Good afternoon, class," or "Hello, all of you," like any other vaguely decent teacher would say. Just "Everyone take out your homework!"

Figures.

"You should have read chapter nine in your text book," she continued, "and answered all of the questions at the end. Nico, would you like to read your answer for question one?"

I braced myself. This was my chance.

"I . . . I wouldn't," I stammered out, heart pounding in my chest. I know you'd think it stupid to be terrified, especially considering that I've battled monsters of all shapes and sizes, but Ms. Perkins was worse than any monster. And celestial bronze wouldn't work on her.

"Oh really?" she asked, beady eyes narrowing dangerously at me. "And why is that?"

I swallowed nervously, then reminded myself that I wanted this, and if this was the price I had to pay for honor and respect, so be it. "I didn't do it."

There were gasps of surprise. There were exclamations of horror. Someone even dropped their books on the floor. Nobody in their right mind ever skipped out on Perkins's homework. That was a rule that had not been broken since 1996, when it was rumored that she had scared a poor kid so much his eyebrows had fallen off.

But on the upside, if I got out of this alive, I would be a legacy. Both at Camp Half-Blood and J. R. Carter High.

"I'm sorry," she said disbelievingly, "but I don't believe I heard you correctly. Would you care to repeat that?"

The class had gone silent. Deathly silent.

"I didn't do it," I mumbled again, keeping my eyes on my desk. There, I'd said it. Now she was going to give me a detention, and it would all be over. I'd never have to do this again. Ever. In this lifetime or the next.

"Mr. di Angelo," she stated venemously, "I'll be seeing you . . ."

_In detention . . . in detention . . . in detention . . . _

" . . . after class."

_GODDAMNIT!_

* * *

In the end, I went to detention anyways. And to be quite frank, I'd never felt like more of a loser in my whole life. But it was for the sake of my reputation, and as long as I kept telling myself that, I was okay with it.

Mr. Saunders was on detention duty, and he didn't looked surprised when I walked into the room. "Mr. di Angelo," he mused, "Why am I not surprised to see you here?" His gaze flitted down to the clipboard he had in his hands, and then he frowned. "That's odd. You're not on the list."

I gave him what I prayed looked like a relieved smile. "So I don't have to stay here?" I asked, trying to make my tone as hopeful as possible. All the while I scanned the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of Nia Mercer.

My plan worked. I knew that Saunders wouldn't be able to resist making my day miserable. He smiled cruelly. "Sorry, but I'm afraid you do. Your name might not be on the list, but I have no doubt in my mind that you got yourself into trouble. Take a seat."

Trying not to grin victoriously, because that would totally blow my cover, I scrutinized the room one last time . . . and found her. She was sitting in the corner, hunched over a notebook, her black braid hanging over the side of her desk. She didn't even look up as I slid into the chair next to her.

"Hey," I whispered in what I hoped was a friendly tone. I didn't want to seem like some creeper who'd just randomly started talking to her. Even though I kind of was. "I'm Nico," I added, when it became evident that she wasn't going to respond. I waited. Nothing but more silence. "What's your name?"

She finally glanced up at me. I almost leaped out of my seat. Her eyes were a startling shade of . . . well, there's really no way to describe the color. It was like blue ink spilled over onyx stone, and had the most piercing effect I'd ever seen.

"Nia Mercer," she stated in an astonishingly bored tone. "And if you're looking to get laid, you can migrate elsewhere." Then she turned her attention back to the notebook.

All I could do was sit there flabbergasted. It was the first time this girl had ever spoken to me, and she had accused me of hitting on her. Getting off to a rocky start? No, more like getting off to a stalactite-y start.

It took a moment, but I was finally able to form coherent words again. "I'm not looking to get laid," I told her. "I just wanted to talk to you."

She snorted. "A likely story. But I applaud your acting skills; you almost sounded sincere."

I ran a hand through my hair. I had vastly underestimated Nia's reaction. She had a lot more attitude than I thought. This was going to be tricky.

"It's not acting," I informed her. "I'm telling the truth. Believe it or not, there are teenage boys out there who _don't_ spend every waking moment thinking about sex. And I just happen to be one of them."

She seemed reluctant to believe me. "Okay, well, if it's not sex, then what is it you want? And don't tell me you just want to talk. You wouldn't go out of your way to stalk me just so we could talk." She must've noticed the surprised look on my face, because then she sighed. "Yes, I know you've been following me. I'm a lot more observant than people give me credit for."

My cheeks flushed in embarrassment; I'd thought that I had blended in fairly well, but apparently I hadn't at all.

"Um . . . well . . ." Crap. I hadn't really thought about what I was going to say. "I wanted to ask you something . . . but it's gonna sound kind of weird."

"I've heard weird things before," she told me. "From people a lot sketchier than you, in fact. I think I can handle it."

"Okay, it's like . . ." I trailed off, choosing my words carefully. "Have you ever, um, had anything . . . odd happen to you?"

She blinked. "Everyone's had something odd happen to them."

"I know," I said. "But have you ever had anything _especially_ odd happen?"

She smirked. "I have. Multiple times. Like today, I was tracked down by a high school guy I've never met before in my life, and he started asking me mysterious questions. Very odd."

It took a lot of willpower not to roll my eyes. "Besides that."

Nia pondered this for a minute. "Well, it depends on what you mean by 'odd'. I once saw a guy dressed as a pink chicken with a sombrero, but I somehow doubt that's what you mean."

I shook my head. "It isn't. By odd I mean . . . something that you couldn't make sense of. Something you saw that made you think you were dreaming, or hallucinating. And possibly made you think you were schizophrenic."

I thought I saw something flash in her eyes, but it was gone so fast that I couldn't be sure it was even there in the first place. "No, of course not. Where would you get an idea like that?"

I tried not to be disappointed. I mean, if someone had asked me that kind of question, I would probably have denied it, too. So there was still a chance. "Er . . ." Should I tell her that I was a demigod too? No, of course not, that would sound crazy even if she _was_ a demigod. Maybe I shouldn't tell her anything, let her think about what I had asked . . .

Finally, I made up my mind.

"Look," I said, "If you _are _seeing odd things, just know that I'm seeing them too. And if you're not . . . well, then I guess I must be crazy." I smiled at her and hefted my backpack over my shoulder. "And that would really suck." Then I strode out of the room, ignoring Mr. Saunders's protests, feeling Nia's intense gaze following me the whole way.

* * *

The plan was supposed to go like this: I would waltz into detention and have a friendly chat with Nia, then get her to confess that she could see monsters, and inform her that she was a demigod. Then she would be like, "OMG!" and I would tell her that it was okay, I was one too. After that, she'd be relieved that someone as attractive as me knew what she was going through, and then we would skip off into the sunset as a movie montage started playing.

But it actually went like this: I had to fake being in detention, awkwardly introduce myself to her, then ask her if she had ever thought she was hallucinating at one point or another in her life. To which she had responded with a strange look and told me no. And then I informed her that I myself was seeing strange things, and walked away hoping that she would take the bait. And, after days of waiting, I finally realized that she had absolutely no way to contact me and that I hadn't given her my number or even my last name, so she was still probably wondering who the hell I was.

So I was forced to hide in the boys' bathroom for an hour after school ended on Friday, waiting for Nia to get out of detention. Because, let's face it, there was no way I was voluntarily checking in again. And if you think an hour passes slowly when you're sitting in class, try waiting in a reeking bathroom with obscenities scratched into the walls and having ADHD.

It was no walk in the park, I'll tell you that.

But, finally, the bell rang, signaling the end of detention. I exited the bathroom as quickly as I could, only to bump straight into Nia. Literally. Her books and binders scattered across the ground, papers spilling everywhere. She cursed under her breath.

"Sorry," I apologized, stooping to help pick everything up. "Didn't see you there!"

"_Obviously_," she snapped. "Why else would you—" she cut herself of, and her irritated expression turned to one of surprise. "Hey, you're that cryptic guy who asked me weird questions and then vanished into oblivion! Marco, right?" She didn't wait for me to answer. "Okay, what you did, just dropping in like that and disappearing? That. Was. Not. Cool. You at least could've given me your number. Or your last name, so I could look you up! For all I know, you could be a psychotic serial killer who—"

"First of all," I interrupted, "it's Nico, not Marco. And second of all, my last name's di Angelo, and the fact that I just gave it to you kind of proves that I'm not a major creeper. And why would you even want to contact me in the first place? I asked you what I wanted to and you gave me your answers. That's all there is to it."

"No," she countered, "that's not all there is to it! I have a question of my own, and I have every intention of getting an answer from you."

I sighed. "Fine, ask away."

She bit her lip and glanced around nervously. "Can we go somewhere else? I don't want anyone to overhear."

"Absolutely," I said, hiding a smile. The fact that she wanted to talk in private was a very good sign. It most likely meant that she was going to fess up to being able to see through the mist.

I followed eagerly behind her as she navigated through the hallways to an empty music room. Once inside, she closed the door behind her and took a deep breath, brushing her glossy black braid over her shoulder. It occured to me that hair that long must be an absolute _bitch_ to wash, and I was suddenly thankful for my short (if slightly messy) cut.

"Why me?" she blurted suddenly, gazing intensely at me with those inky onyx-blue eyes.

"I . . . I beg your pardon?" I asked, not quite sure what she meant.

"Why me?" she repeated. "Why did you single me out from everybody else? What was it about me that made you think I saw those . . . things you mentioned?"

I shrugged uncomfortably, fairly certain that if I brought up the Dylan/Jolie debacle, she would slam me into a wall as well.

"People who see those things—" I paused. "—people like me, have certain characteristics that distinguish us from others. Like, for instance, we're all ADHD and dyslexic, and most of us are always getting into trouble. And, um, we kind of have bad tempers." I eyed her meaningfully as I said the last part. She glared at me.

"That hardly means anything! Almost all teenagers get into trouble, and I can name dozens of people who have bad tempers. And I'm not ADHD _or_ dyslexic."

I shook my head. "Even so, there's just something about you that's . . . different." I stopped, suddenly hesitant. "Wait—did you just say that you're _not_ ADHD or dyslexic?"

She smirked. "Yup. I get straight A's in every subject. Well, except for math. I really suck at math. But then again, who doesn't? Except for mathematicians, or whatever, but they're pretty much automatons so they don't count."

I slumped down in the nearest chair, suddenly unbearably weary. I'd gone to all of this effort, and for what? I'd gotten a goth mortal girl to think I was nuts. And now she was probably going to tell all of her other girl friends, so not only would my reputation at Camp Half-Blood be ruined, but I'd have no love life either.

She must've noticed my abrupt hopelessness, because her expression softened a little.

"Hey, it's okay. We all make mistakes. And I'd give you a pep talk about it, but that's way too clichéd for my taste." She grinned ruefully at me.

"That's fine, just . . ." I trailed off, wanting to ask my question again, praying to gods that she'd answer differently this time. "You're sure that you haven't seen anything weird? Because you could tell me, if you did. I swear I wouldn't tell anyone. And you wouldn't be alone, either. There are loads of others like me!"

She looked at me, and for a moment, her expression was both wistful and pained, as if she wanted to say yes. But it cleared in a second, and she just blinked and shook her head at me. "I'm so sorry Nico. But I never have."

She swung the door open and stepped out into the hallway, shutting it behind her with a soft _click._

Completely unaware that she had just crushed what was left of my hope.

* * *

**A quick thank you to my lovely beta, Riptide Anaklusmos, for helping me edit this chapter! And a thank you to all of those who reviewed; you made my day!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series.**


	3. I Battle an Angry Rhino

I hate school. I hate teachers. I hate trigonometry. I hate cheerful people. I hate yellow. I hate cheeseburgers. I hate swimming. I hate pop music. I hate modern technology. I hate modern terminology. I hate dancing. I hate singing. I hate flip flops. I hate rap. I hate the smell of dog crap. I hate the smell of swiss cheese. I hate people who wear sunglasses inside.

But I hate, hate, _hate _morning announcements.

"Good morning, fellow students!" the perky student-council president chirped from the overheard TV. "I hope you're all having a lovely day!"

_You're hopes are in vain, sista._

"As I'm sure you've all heard by now, prom is coming up very soon! And you're probably wondering, 'where must I go to rent a tuxedo?"

_More like, "what must I do to save myself from this asinine chatter?"_

"Well, lucky for you, our school has raised enough funds this year to provide rental tuxes to all of the male student body! Just drop by in two weeks, and there will be racks set up in the music room . . ."

Ah yes, the music room. Also known as, "The Room in Which a Goth Chick With Anger Management Issues Robbed Me of My Hopes and Dreams, as Well as Whatever Small Amount of Optimism I Used to Have." Yeah, it didn't exactly hold the greatest memories.

Up on the screen, someone whispered something into Happy-Go-Lucky's ear. Her eyes widened to the size of slightly-larger-than-average grapefruits as she feigned a look of shock and horror. Maybe she'd been notified that her dress had a small wrinkle? Or that Tinkerbell didn't actually exist? I didn't have to wait long to find out.

"Well," she sang in a voice so filled with fake worry that it burned my ears a little bit, "I've been told to inform everyone that all students are to remain inside the building until further notice. I'm not sure why . . ." Her concerned demeanor faltered, and she glared at someone standing out of range of the camera. No doubt the one who had spoken into her ear in the first place. A few words were exchanged, and when she smiled again, I had to remind myself that giving someone the finger was not a particularly flattering gesture, nor could she actually see me through the television.

"But apparently we're about to flip to channel five to find out!" She winked. I gagged. "Stay tuned!"

The screen went blank momentarily, and the other students in the hallway pondered with eachother what could possibly be so bad that it would force us to stay indoors. I waited patiently until a reporter appeared from up in a helicopter, gripping a microphone in her hand and talking professionally into it.

"We're live here at Birchville, Vermont," she announced. "And in a hellicopter—because it's too dangerous to be at the scene right now."

The scene? What scene?

"A vicious rhinoceros has been rampaging through the miniscule town since around 7:45 this morning. We don't yet know the full extent of the damage, but local authorities have informed us that not only has the wild beast been smashing through trees and houses, it's been setting them on fire, too. Police are still speculating about where the animal could have come from, the most likely answer being a local zoo. Citizens are being advised to stay indoors, and—if possible—in a basement or cellar until this rogue beast has been dealt with."

I gaped. A rampaging rhinoceros? Smashing houses? Setting things on _fire_? Okay, the first two I could kind of believe. But as far as I knew, rhinos didn't have any sort of fire power, or weld flame-throwers. Plus, Birchville didn't even _have _any local zoos. And it's not like the thing swam all the way from Africa just to cause a commotion.

I pivoted and began pushing my way through the crowded hallway to first period English, then thought better of it. I mean, what's a crappy newscast in comparison to being early to a daily torture session? I doubled back, fixing my gaze once again on the overhead TV. They had finally gotten a shot of the rhino—well, tried to, anyways. There was so much smoke and debri that it wasn't even visible.

Shaking my head disbelievingly, I let out a long sigh. As far as cons went, this one wasn't all that convincing. And apparently I wasn't the only one who thought so.

"How freaking batshit crazy are these people?"

It took me a moment to pinpoint the source. But oh, when I did, something inside me died a little. She was dressed in all black. With one long braid. And a notebook in her hand.

And thus, my morning began spiraling downwards.

Nia was facing away from me, thank gods, and I wondered what my chances were of sneaking past her unnoticed. Most likely very small; she was, after all, "more observant than most people gave her credit for". Still . . . it was worth a try, right?

"I can believe it," said the girl she was talking to—Ginnie? Jennie? Jelly? I started to slip through the crowd.

"You'll believe anything, Jo," she laughed, and as I neared her location, I got the feeling that she didn't do so that often. "Remember when Chesley told you he could—"

"That," Jo (which I remembered was short for Jolie) interrupted, "Was a completely believable story."

"Right. Because god knows an eleven-year-old is capable of—Nico?"

That moment right there was the textbook definition of a "shit-uation".

"Nia," I choked out, internally cursing myself for not being smoother. Whatever happened to manly pride? And why the hell didn't I have any? So she thought I was schizophrenic. No problem. I was sure that people had thought much worse things about me in the past. No, I _knew._ So this shouldn't have mattered. At all. The least bit.

"Nico," she replied steadily, face devoid of all expression.

"This is Nico?" Jolie asked with obvious interest, scrutinizing me with wide brown eyes which, despite their dark color, seemed to glow. Hell, now that I noticed it, _all _of her seemed to glow. She practically radiated perky. I was honestly surprised that I hadn't noticed it when I'd first seen her in the cafeteria with Dylan. Then again, she _had _been on the verge of tears. And, of course, I'd been a wee bit distracted.

"Wow," she exclaimed, "you are so much better looking than Nia said you were!" She then realized what she'd just said, and I'm not sure which of the three of us were more horrified at that moment. Though Nia was doing a pretty good job of maintaining her poker face.

The goth in question cleared her throat. "Nico, this is Jolie. She lives with her foot in her mouth, so you'll have to forgive her if everything comes out a little muffled."

Jolie didn't so much as glare at her, just gave her a lighthearted punch in the arm and resumed her babbling. "Well, Nico, Nia's told me so much about you!"

I arched an eyebrow. "Have you, now?" I asked her, but Jolie started talking again before she could answer.

"Actually, I shouldn't say that. There's not much about you that she could tell me, considering that you've only had, what, three total conversations? And even then I had to grill for details." She said this as though my brief, strange meetings with Nia were completely normal, everyday situations. "So your last name's di Angelo? That's Italian, right? Does your mom make gnocci? Are you gonna grow a mustache when you're older? Do you drive a Ferrari? Or a—"

"Okay," I interrupted, "That's just plain offensive—"

"—lamborghini?" She plowed right on as if I hadn't spoken, and I could tell Nia was biting back a grin. "I've always wanted a Lamborghini. Custom-made, azure base with an intricate pink-and-green design painted onto it, and leather seats. Cream-colored leather seats . . ."

Dear gods, she was ruining a perfectly good car without even touching it.

But just as I was beginning to wonder if she ever needed to stop for oxygen, she said something that abruptly jolted me out of my reverie.

"So you see monsters, right?"

I stood frozen for a second, unsure of what to do. Then I spun on Nia.

"You _told _her?" Sure, I hadn't exactly informed her that she was in possession of one of my biggest secrets, but still, you'd think she'd have the decency not to go and tell everyone about it. Apparently not.

"Relax," she assured me, "Jolie's the only one I told. You're secret's safe with us."

"Good." Though I couldn't say I was all that relieved. Jolie babbled so much; who knew when it could slip out?

"Yeah," the shorter one agreed, "and we don't lie about that stuff. None of us."

"None of you?" I echoed in confusion. "But you just said you didn't tell anyone else."

Jolie's eyes widened and a look of sheer panic flitted across her face. The girl was as easy to read as a picture a book, almost the polar opposite of her friend. She was probably no good at lying, something I really didn't envy her for, because gods know how many times I had to lie myself out of some bad situations. Chances are that the very nice cash register lady at Groceries N' Things wouldn't have believed me if I'd told her how the pile of yellow dust _really _appeared in the canned soup isle.

"She was referring to my cat," Nia explained, and I couldn't tell if she was serious or not. "She can't go two minutes without talking, and when there's no new victim around, she rants to him." Apparently she was.

"Hey!" Jolie defended herself. "Fayiz is a fantastic listener!"

"Fayiz?" I smirked. "Whatever happened to names like Socks and Fluffy?"

"It's all about the names, Nico. And cats with those names die really, really young."

"So wait . . ." I paused briefly. "If you know that I'm . . . crazy, why do you still talk to me? I can guarantee that if the rest of the school knew, ninety-nine percent of the students wouldn't come within five feet of me."

Nia smiled wryly. "I'm goth. Jolie talks to cats. We're not exactly the most popular people, either."

But, I decided, they definitely could've been. They were pretty enough to be student council members—no, one rank higher. They were pretty enough to be cheerleaders. If Nia just lost the black clothes and heavy makeup, and Jolie had the decency to shut up sometimes . . .

"Plus, Nia's the rebellious type!" she chimed in. "Not that I mind. Sometimes it's fun to-"

"Wait, what?" I cut her off. "What do you mean 'rebellious'? What are you even rebelling against by talking to me?"

Nia ignored my question, instead choosing to grab Jolie by the elbow and begin to tow her away. "God, look at the time! Sorry, Nico, but we really need to leave now. We have history next, and you know how Ms. Perkins is if you're late! See you around!" And on that note, she promptly spun and (very quickly) walked away. But not before I heard her whisper to Jolie, "I swear, you're going to be the death of me."

Odd? Yeah, just a bit. She certainly had a thing for eccentric farewells.

It was only after fifteen minutes of English class that I realized that, in all of my conversations with Nia, I had never specifically mentioned monsters.

Go figure.

* * *

The "rhino" attacked our school at 11:30 sharp.

Be thankful for your mortal heritage, dearest readers, for life as a half-immortal 't isn't all that leisurely. Because, when it all comes down to it (no matter how vaguely fun it sounds) battling a "rhino" is kind of scary. Terrifying, actually.

But I'll get to that in a minute.

I was sitting in study hall, doodling on my Spanish homework (this is why you don't give an ADHD kid pencils and free time) when the announcement came over the loudspeaker.

"All students report to the auditorium immediately," said the tinny voice. "Repeat, all students report to the auditorium immediately. The school is now in lockdown. Teachers, please accompany the students and see to it that they get there safely. Thank you."

Thank you? Seriously? It's like, "Hey, there's a slight possibility that you life's in grave danger. Have a nice day."

_Well, my life is pretty much always in grave danger anyways . . . _

I blinked. Now that I thought about it, this really wasn't anything new. My heart sank, and I was suddenly hit by a new realization. Okay, I'd realized it before, but this time I was able to put the pieces together:

Rhinos aren't in any way associated with fire.

Fifty percent (more or less) of mythological creatures? Hell yes.

Trying not to groan, because epic monster-slaying heroes don't do that, I began weaving my way through the tumult of teens, moving in the opposite direction. The auditorium was at the far north side of the school, so my logic told me that the beast was probably on the south side. That is, assuming the faculty was smart enough to put us as far away from the danger as possible, not just pick a room big enough to fit the whole student body. I seriously hoped it was the former.

Nevertheless, I continued to navigate through the crowd until the student-to-hallway ratio began to lessen, and eventually I was alone. Apparently the teachers trusted us enough to leave the hallways at this end of the school unguarded. Or maybe they thought that none of us would be stupid enough to leave the building and march out to meet our own deaths.

Wrong once again.

Before I exited the school, I had to stop by my locker to retrieve my "wallet". You know, the one that conveniently doubled as a Stygian iron sword when you opened it. And luckily for me, my locker was also on the south side of the building. Fate? Maybe. But if Fate placed my locker there just because they wanted me to battle a "rhino", it seemed more like a joke than a gesture of helpfulness.

And as I began to embark on what I was eighty percent sure would be a fruitless endeavor, I was suddenly struck by the oddity of the situation. A "rhino" was supposedly attacking the school, most likely the side I was on. Yet there was no loud noise, no smoke, no debris. It seemed a little strange to me that such a large and extremely pissed off creature would be this stealthy when going about its destructive activities.

I was beginning to wonder how the school had come to the conclusion that we were being attacked. There was no evidence of any sort, or anything that even vaguely suggested that—

I turned the corner and froze.

_Oh,__ that's how._

The huge, gaping, smoldering hole in the half-collapsed wall was probably what tipped them off.

"Holy _shit_," I cursed, wondering if it was too late to turn back. If this creature could do that much damage to a sturdy brick wall, gods only knew what it could do to me. Speaking of which, I had no idea where the hell the creature in question even _was_. How was I supposed to fight it if I didn't—

My thought got cut off when roughly half of the hallway was blasted into pieces and the "rhino" stepped through.

"How many times," I hissed under my breath, "is this thing going to interrupt my think—"

And suddenly I was flung back against the lockers with suck force that all of the breath got knocked out of me and I could've sworn I felt one of my ribs crack. It took me a few seconds after that to come back to my senses, but when I did, I realized that all of them were screaming at me to run. Why, you might ask? Because the thing that had whacked me hard enough to make me lose my memory, it was a tail.

A really big tail. A really big, really scaley, really green tail. And a tail with such characteristics could only belong to . . .

I swallowed in dread as I sized up my opponent.

A dragon.

And a very hungry-looking one, at that.

This had been a bad idea. An exceedingly, excessively, extraordinarily, extremely, and all the other adverbs you can think of that start with e, bad idea. Seriously, who rushes out to a hopeless battle with no back-up and no plan? Percy, naturally. But he was _invincible_. The only thing _I _was was in some incredibly deep shit. So I decided to go over my options.

My first option was to try to summon up some of my skeleton warriors. But chances were that if I did, the dragon would set them all on fire. Coincidentally, the only thing that could kill them was... fire. So that plan pretty much got tossed just as quickly as I'd thought of it.

My second option was to stay and fight. But the flaw in that tactic was obvious the moment I thought of it.

Which left me with my third option . . . listen to my senses, and _run'1_

And that I did. I doubled back the way I had come, sprinting as fast as I could, then veering off to a hallway on my right to lead the thing away from the auditorium. I could hear it behind me, giant clawed feet clacking loudly against the floor as it pounded after me in hot pursuit.

I dared to glance back at it just before I took another turn to to my left. The huge creature was hunched over with its spiny back brushing the ceiling, cracking the fluorescent lights as it moved (I seriously hoped they weren't toxic). Smoke billowed from its nostrils in thick gray clouds, ones that I was sure would set off the fire alarms at any minute.

Speak of the devil.

Alarms started blaring, bright white lights flashing somewhere in my peripheral vision. Then the sprinkler system turned on, and before I knew what had happened, I had slipped and crashed onto the floor, the breath knocked out of me for the second time in a five-minute period.

I tried to stand up, but the dragon swiped me to the side with its claw and I hit my head—_hard_—against the opposite wall. I groaned in pain, vaguely aware of a warm, wet substance on the back of my skull. I reached up shakily to touch it, then brought my hand in front of my face.

_Blood._

I was bleeding, a lot. The water around me was tinged with red. My mind screamed at me to stand up and keep running, but my limbs wouldn't respond. I felt dizzy. Black spots clouded my vision. I shook my head to rid myself of them, but that just made the horrible throbbing worsen.

All the while, the dragon was slowly advancing, taking its own sweet time to deliver the blow that would end my life.

So many things seemed cruel about my impending death. Like the fact that I hadn't even gotten the chance to fight, or been able to save all of the innocent students who were currently packed together in the auditorium. But the thing that seemed the cruelest?

Of all the places I could possibly die, I was going to die in _school._

Lucky me.

* * *

**Thank you to my amazing beta, Riptide Anaklusmos, who helped me edit this chapter, and to everyone who reviewed. Also, special thinks to Musafreen—your constructive criticism has really been a huge help for me! :)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series.**


	4. Beginning of Chapter 4 and My Apology

Dragons are not known for being kind or merciful. They do not share our sense of remorse. They are notorious for being cruel and sadistic and killing slowly, dragging out the torture until their victims beg for the forgiving touch of death. It's no secret and no surprise. And yet knowing it is so different from experiencing it.

I'm not proud to admit it, but I was terrified. They say that before you die, your life flashes before your eyes, or you have some awe-inspiring epiphany, or you make peace with the world. But not me. All I could do was lay there thinking about how much it was going to hurt and how deeply and for how long and I wasn't ready to die goddamn it I just wanted more time and it just wasn't fair and please gods just give me more _time_.

But as I saw it closing in, my pathetic bloody form reflected in its soulless eyes, I knew I wasn't getting any. And now I could make out each individual sleek scale on its chest, and closer still it came, its breath scorching my face. Closing my eyes, I could taste the smoke from its nostrils. I could feel its mouth looming inches from me, I could _feel_ its hunger, so ready to kill and I so weak and vulnerable and-

Then nothing.

My eyes shot open. It wasn't standing over me anymore. Maybe I'd gone blind as a result of my smashed head? But no, my eyes could clearly make out the yellowed ceiling tiles and faded green lockers of the school hallway.

Fear quickly subsided to confusion. A dragon wouldn't just back off like that. In fact, I could still hear it, womping around close by, roaring out billowing flames, screeching as something sliced through its flesh.

_Wait, what? _ Bracing myself against the tremendous wave of pain waiting to knock me back down again, I slowly propped myself up on my elbows to get a better look.

I blinked in disbelief. _Dear gods, I must be going crazy._

* * *

**A/N: So I just want to apologize for taking a spontaneous 3 year hiatus. Long story short, I had the almost-finished 2700 word chapter 4 saved in my doc manager and not on my computer, and then I waited too long to finish writing it and it got deleted and I was so frustrated and depressed that I just lost all motivation to continue the story. And that lack of motivation somehow turned into a 3 year hiatus, and it only got worse when I entered high school and got loads of work piled on me.**

**But I want you to know that I haven't ever forgotten about this fic and will now actually try my hardest to update it (although it may take a while because I have a lot less free time now). And just to let you all know, I haven't really written any other fiction in these three years, so it's entirely possible that my writing style has completely deteriorated into an awkwardly-flowing mess, and I hope you'll be patient with me as I struggle to re-acquaint myself with words.**

**Also, going forward, my updates will be longer than this. I just needed to give you a little bit of story because I'm not allowed to upload a page that's solely an author's note.**


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